


worth the punishment

by mysafeplaceishere



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Idiots in Love, Love/Hate, Mild Gore, Mutual Pining, Rough Kissing, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysafeplaceishere/pseuds/mysafeplaceishere
Summary: Killers get tunnel vision over the strangest things, but maybe on your end it isn’t so strange. You shouldn’t have tried to play him at his own game.Eventually that tunnel vision turns into an obsession the longer you interrogate the interrogator.
Relationships: F.J.S.J. | The Legion/Reader, Frank Morrison/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 115





	worth the punishment

You can’t say you’re delighted to be bleeding out against the exit gate but the situation could be a lot worse. You could be dangling from a rusted hook and bearing the worst pain from head to toe. Bleeding to death while watching the scenery isn’t too terrible.

A scream of pain echoes through the atmosphere and you sink closer to the ground, vision blurry. Your mouth tastes of blood and your fingers are beginning to numb to the point you can’t feel anything against your fingertips. You know no one is going to come help you up this time—not when the killer is determined to save you for the very last just like he always does.

The piercing shriek of someone being hoisted onto a hook makes your face contort. It isn’t long before your eyes wander to the sky to watch the fabric of reality ripple, indicating that you had just lost another team member to the The Entity. You don’t know who it was out of Jane, Zarina, or Adam but you know that the more team members go down, the less of a chance you have to get back up and out of this cursed trial.

Not that you think you can get out in the first place, but should someone be brave enough to wander over, it wouldn’t be long before you get found again. No point getting up if you know it is useless.

You press a hand to your opened wound to slow the bleeding with a open sigh that breaks at the end. The pain isn’t unbearable but it isn’t pleasant to know every ounce of your life is spilling to the ground where you sit. You wish you had taken the time to let Bill teach you how to get up by yourself without the assistance of others. The old man knows how to survive, you will give him that much.

You end up coughing into your free hand and blood splatters against your palm. You stare at the red droplets, eyebrows furrowed in concentration before rolling your eyes and wiping it off on your pants. There isn’t time to cry over it or the fact you need new clothes. By the time you make it back to the campfire, your clothes will look brand new. Curtsy of The Entity himself.

You eyelids start to feel heavy and you struggle your keep your head from lolling to the side. Eventually you quit fighting the drift and end up landing on your stomach, face resting in the grass. The ache from your wound subsides from the new position and you let out a breath of relief.

The ground is wet from your heavy bleeding and smells heavy of iron but you’re grateful for a moment of peace before heading back to the campfire. The only thing you feel like is missing is a certain someone to keep you company until you pass. He should be here any minute now to rub in your face how you weren’t fast enough to get away yet again.

The time ticks by with you listening to the sounds of screaming. Your cloudy vision stays to the sky where you watch it wave over twice. Any hope you had left, however small, dissipates when you realize the rest of your team is dead. As time has shown, you’re by yourself once more.

Your heart spasms in your chest as a figure rounds steps out from behind the thin tree line. What little blood you have left rushes to your face and the surge adrenaline makes you flinch in default reaction. The familiar grinning mask stares back at you, splattered with blood, and silence takes over the air which was once filled with screams. Eventually you let your eyes fall closed with a shuttering exhale.

“Come back to finish the job, Frank? You tunneled me for another trial. Not surprising, but you could at least give me a break once in awhile.”

Every killer is unpleasant to face. No matter who it is, you always end up limping across the terrain with a twisted ankle and slash on your side. Every once in awhile someone gets a killer with tunnel vision whether they did something wrong or not. You, on the other hand, have a particular killer that marks you every game you get together.

The Legion. Most specifically Frank, the leader of said group. Everyone knows him as the drug junkie with an addiction for narcissistic-like behavior. You know he isn’t any of those things from all the unwanted time spent with him. No matter how many times you try to wrap your head around it, you can’t figure out why he goes after you. You could have the rest of your team bunched up in one area waiting to be slaughtered and he would chase after you instead. Trying to get an answer for the reason is impossible because asking while you dangle from a hook isn’t the best timing. Definitely not in a chase, either. You can barely escape his gaze most the time, much less the wrath of his blade.

The first few rounds with him was normal. You would hop windows, throw down pallets, take hits for your teammates as needed but he didn’t specifically tunnel you. Not until one game everyone had been sacrificed and you, feeling spunky and knowing where the hatch was—also in the possession of a key, decided to let him chase you around the whole map. When you got the chance, you would throw down a pallet on top of his head and would offer a soft, “aw, did that hurt, baby doll?” while he writhed in pain for a few seconds.

You escaped that match unharmed. The next trial you got wasn’t as lucky, nor was it as pleasant. You were gutted down the middle and you swear before the light in your eyes died out that he had swept the hair in your face behind your ear with a gentle whisper of, “oh, did that hurt, dollface?” The rest is history.

You expect some snarky remark but all you get is a head tilt, as if he’s studying the way you pale a shade lighters each second passes. He bounces his blade in his hand but makes no move to lean over and stab you again. You crack open an eye to watch him settle his free hand on his hip and tilt his head back with a chuckle.

“Why’re you layin’ down like that?”

You blink at him in confusion before scoffing, realizing he just wants you to explain what he did in detail. What you wouldn’t give to claw his eyes out—whatever his eyes look like. A shame you haven’t been able to see him without the mask despite hanging out frequently. His eyes are most likely solid black like the demon he is.

“I don’t have the energy to sit up. Lost too much blood,” you narrow your eyes, words starting to slur together.

He rolls his shoulders to give a shrug. “Ouch.”

You scoff at his obnoxious behavior and the blood that had been collecting in the pocket of your cheek comes splattering back up. A moan of pain leaves your throat as you try to wipe away the blood from your mouth all while cradling your wound. Frank watches the mess with heavy lidded eyes unbeknownst to you.

“This is hard to watch.”

You cough into your hand with a full body tremor. “Then go somewhere else and let me die in peace.”

The hatred in your tone doesn’t seem to phase him in the slightest. In fact, he puts away his knife and bends down to lay a hand on your forearm. Normally you would smack his hand away but this time you leave it be, only gazing up at his bloodied mask. You let your face morph into an expression of surprise when he lifts you back up by your forearm. His caress is gentle, timid in a way, totally not like him. It makes your head spin.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you snarl as best you can through the blood collecting on your tongue.

“Shut up and stay still,” he growls back.

You want to argue but the exhaustion gets the better of your judgment and you fall silent. At this point it is hard to keep your eyes open, much less focus on the way his hand rests on your shoulder to keep you from falling over again. Besides being on his shoulder or being gutted like a fish, this is the closest you have ever been to him.

You notice that he smells nice—like a certain brand of cologne you can’t place your finger on. It reminds you of nights when you would sneak onto your neighbors roof and watch the traffic pass by. You would put in your earphones and listen to music to let the world waste away for a little while—sometimes hours at a time. The small town you grew up in provided some of the best spots to go star gazing on nights you needed to get away. Now why his cologne reminds you of those specific points in your life? Not one clue.

The mere smell of him shouldn’t be comforting, nor should the warmth his hands on your cold skin. You raise your hand that was previously holding your wound close to his face. He doesn’t make an attempt to move back when you use your forefinger to draw the outline of his grin. Blood smears over the black lines of the unsettling smile.

“Are you actually human under that mask or are you just another monster?”

You know the answer to that already. He is more human than some of the survivors that keep you company.

He huffs. “I said shut up and stay still. This is the opposite of that.”

“So... that’s a no?”

He grumbles something under his breath before bringing the sleeve of his hoodie up to your face to wipe away the blood collecting at the corners of your mouth. “It’s not any of your business. But why do you ask?”

If you had any blood left you might blush at the tenderness he’s showing. You have a feeling it’s an act to get you relaxed before he jabs his blade into your stomach to finish the job. But even then, you can’t say you hate the way he is handling you as of now. Touching like this doesn’t happen in this realm. Everyone is too scared to make physical connections. You can hold a conversation all day without a problem, but the second you ask for a hug when upset or even a high-five, they pull into themself.

Just being touched by real human hands makes you melt. Deep down inside you’ve always been touch starving; craving for a mere hand hold in the worst moments. Even now.

You want to answer his question but your eyes begin to slip closed. Frank catches your head on his shoulder when you slump forward, unable to hold yourself up anymore. The last thing you feel is his hand wrapping around your back and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

“Come on, you can’t die now. I asked you why,” he shakes you only to receive no answer.

You go completely limp in his hands. The last bit of breath you had in your lungs leaves in a huff. While he wants to be mad at your inconvenient passing, he was the one who let you lay here to die in the first place. The pure paleness of your skin should have been a good indicator that you weren’t going to make it much longer.

He leans you back against the exit door to gaze over your facial features. The dark circles under your eyes added with the dribbling blood from your mouth truly shows him you aren’t here to answer his question anymore. Should you not have been on your last life, you would have spit the blood in his face like he expected in the first place. He was caught off guard when you willingly touched him instead.

That hasn’t happened before. He didn’t hate it.

Once he’s sure you won’t fall over again, he settles next to your side. His head falls back against the metal door to gaze up at the sky made up of fake stars that simulate a night sky. Although he tries to keep his eyes from falling back to you, they do anyway. He even reaches back over to smooth your hair out of your face even if there is no reason to. His knuckles brush over your cheek to take in the softness of your skin, however bloody it may be. He wonders what it would feel like warm.

Really, as he gazes upon your face, he can’t help but let a smirk curl at his lips. That was the most you have ever attempted to talk to him.

How he can’t wait to see what other surprises you have—his perfect obsession.

•••

You curl your fingers into your hair with an internal groan. The bouncing of your leg and tense atmosphere around you has everyone at the campfire staring, some in concern and others in confusion. 

You chew on your bottom lip until it starts to bleed on your tongue but you don’t notice the pain right away. All you can manage is a distant gaze into the curling flames of the fire while your head runs around itself.

How did you touch him? Let alone talk to him as if he wasn’t standing over you like the predator he is? You can still smell his cologne on your own clothes however faint it may be. It makes your fingertips tingle and your cheeks warm just thinking about it. The fact that he felt like an actual human makes your skin burn. Other killers like the Hag or the Hillbilly don’t have any sort of normalcy to them—the only sort of humanity they showcase is the portions of their body, indicating that they were once like you. The Entity has a way of corrupting those in pain into a monster.

You wonder why It didn’t do that to Frank or his friends.

“Are you alright?”

Your eyes flicker over to Laurie. She’s leaning forward on her elbows to peer forward at you. A feeling of guilt washes over you at her concern. If you were to tell her what you did or how you didn’t mind be so close to a killer, she might overreact. Everyone knows that Laurie is experienced in the killer themselves—she’s been dealing with one since before she was captured by The Entity.Although, now that you think that, maybe some guidance from her wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’m having conflicting emotions about something,” you answer back, giving a forced smile in her direction.

You can see the motherly nature in her flare to life at your words.

“Over what? Is someone bullying you?” She whispers, eyebrows furrowing together in anger.

You open your mouth to explain a portion of the situation but get cut off by her standing up, grabbing your hand and dragging you over to the side so no one can eavesdrop. You don’t try to fight back against her grip. It would be pointless to try in the first place. Some think she is as strong as a killer and the only reason she isn’t able to tap into that brute strength is because The Entity forbids it. You still don’t want to chance it.

“Tell me,” she grabs you by the shoulders, “I’ll fix it.”

A frown settles on your mouth. “It isn’t that simple. You can’t fix this.”

Out of nervous habit, you tuck some hair behind your ear and avoid eye contact. You begin to wring your hands together as she stares you down, waiting for an explanation no matter how long it takes. Her stubborn nature can be a blessing and a curse.

“Do you...” you trail off, pondering over how to word your troubles, “have you ever felt comfort in the presence of a killer?”

The expression that overtakes her face is unsettling. A gleam of something you can’t place flashes in the glow of her eyes and you cringe. This isn’t going to end very well for you.

“I can’t say I have. Why? What are you doing?” She squints her eyes, tone skeptical.

“I’m not trying—“ you cut yourself off to spare a glance over at the others. No one is paying attention to the either of you and it makes your shoulders dip in relief.

“It’s Frank.”

“Frank?” She repeats the name as if to confirm she heard you right.

“He was nice to me and I liked it,” you cross your arms over your chest as a barrier to protect yourself, “and as much as I hate to admit it... I think I have a crush on him.”

Her lips part with a sucked in breath before she clenches her jaw closed. You watch with a nervous expression as her face goes slack with a knowing smile, one that makes you feel uneasy. She settles her hands on her hips and you sink down into yourself, feeling like a little kid being scolded by their mother.

“Is this your weird way of asking for my blessing?” She arches a brow at you.

“More like me asking for help... what do I do?”

Her gaze searches yours for a few moments before she gives a careless shrug, smile growing. “Pursue him. I’m not sure if a relationship between killers and survivors is allowed in this sick game we play but why not find out? As long as you’re not trying to get with Michael, I don’t care who you fancy.”

Pursue him, huh? You dig the heel of your shoe into the dirt in thought. It doesn’t seem like a completely terrible idea. Not the smartest idea but not all out terrible.

What’s the worst that could happen? You die? That’s funny.

•••

You slide over a pallet and the sound of a blade hitting wood makes you smirk. Across from you heaves Frank, shoulders heaving up and down with each labored breath. His hands clutch his head when the aftershock of his frenzy running dry hits him and you wince when he cries out in pain.

You’re lucky he hadn’t hit you during said frenzy, otherwise you would be right back to the same spot at last trial: bleeding to death with no one around to help. While that was fun and all, you would rather escape this match with your friends. Some kind of victory would lift your spirit even if it’s for a split second.

“Would you stay still?” He hisses through the fading pain.

You should take the opportunity to run in the opposite direction, kick up some dirt and vanish into thin air before he can make a successful recovery. Instead you feel the need to keep pestering, looping, and having a bit of pleasure in torturing him for the time being. It isn’t like he wants to go after anyone else anyway. You would be lying if you said you weren’t at least a bit—just a pinch concerned for his well being. Admitting these newfound romantic feelings for him a few days ago really put a number on you.

You think that maybe you actually care for the sorry bastard. Not like he deserves your care in the slightest. All you do is think about how nice it was to be close to someone again back at the campfire. Every waking moment is spent with your head in your hands and your heart uncomfortably beating against your ribcage. Why? Because all you want to do is hold him close, breathe in his scent and enjoy a moment of peace.

You thought over the possibilities that maybe you only like him because he was close that one time. But when you try to imagine yourself with anyone else, it feels wrong. Then again, being cozy with a killer is wrong in itself.

“How about you get better at chasing me and I won’t have to stay still,” you run your tongue over your bottom lip, still smirking.

His hunched over posture straightens back out when his pain fades away. The dangerous stance and the way his bandaged fingers flex over the handle of his blade makes you take a step back. It doesn’t take a scientist to know that when his foot lifts and hits the pallet, that wood is going to splinter into pieces and he’s going to make his move on you. You spin on your heel and bolt as fast as your legs will allow.

You don’t bother to look over your shoulder. He’s hot on your trail as soon as the pallet is out of his way.

It takes some skilled dodging and leaping out of the way to miss his attacks. The tip of his blade barely misses the skin of your back and you yelp. The chase is a nice thrill, you can admit that much. Part of you feels like he’s holding back this trial simply at the fact he would have caught you already.

Talk about playing with your food. You feel kind of flattered you’re the food this time.

The chugging of a gen makes you take a sudden twist over to the commotion. Normally that would be a big betrayal on the survivor side of things; you never bring the killer to others when they’re working on gens. It is basically taboo. Although this time doesn’t count because all Frank might do is cast a sparing glance. Ultimately, his interest is on you and you alone.

You slide past them on the slippery mud with a wave. “Heyyyyy guys! How’s it coming along?”

Yui, David, and Meg pause in their work to look up at you with wide eyes. The presence of Frank’s red glare paired with their heartbeats makes them freeze. Their nimble fingers leave the generator but you quickly settle them back down with a shake of your head and wave a dismissive hand.

“Keep going. He’s on me.”

“But you brought him to us!” Meg glares at you.

“That’s not a problem,” you hold up a finger with a cheeky smile.

“It’s a member of Legion! Of course it’s a problem! Now we’re all going to bleed out,” Yui chimes in.

All you do is shrug.

They raise a brow at your peculiar behavior. You don’t have time to explain and split from the scene without another word. Frank comes barreling after you not a second later, hardly even sparing the gen a glance. He takes off in a sprint and your teammates watch him disappear with jaws hanging wide open.

You barely make it to another pallet in time to slam it over his head and knock him out of his frenzy. His blade was mere inches from splitting you open. He growls under his breath and, once again, you’re back to the same situation that you were in not even five minutes ago: staring at each other and only separated by the lone pallet. You take the second to bend over and brace your hands on your knees to catch some air.

“You’ve been holding back,” you choke out.

His usual snark doesn’t make an appearance. Most of the time he has the perfect comment to hit you back but this time he stays silent, opting to stare you down through the eyeholes of his mask in an eerie, stalker sort of way. You aren’t sure how to feel. The silence is tense, for one. 

“Frank?”

His hands clench at the soft tone you use. You hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding so sweet and concerned—and judging from the way his body locks up, he didn’t see it coming either.

“You’re a real thorn in my side, you know that?” He finally says through grit teeth.

You offer a shrug of your shoulders as a substitute comeback. Your mouth feels dry and you know better than to try and insult his integrity. You swallow down the increasing anxiety collecting in your throat but make no attempt to say anything in fear it might set him off more than he already is. Every member of The Legion has anger issues, but you suppose you would too if you had to go through of even half of what they dealt with. Frank is by far the worst out of them all. Look at him funny and he’s out for blood.

Although you do want to reask that question from the other trial. It nags at the edges of your mind every single day. 

“Are you human under that mask?”

As expected, you get no answer. Just a growl under his breath. 

The popping of a generator makes you cut your eyes in the direction you had come from. Frank takes the small distraction and leaps over the pallet at you, knife held above his head. You stumble back with a shriek when he takes a swing and hit the ground hard enough it knocks the wind from your lungs. The mud is too slippery for your feet to take hold so you can scramble away and you end up crawling backwards to get away.

You gasp and cough hard enough it makes you feel dizzy. Trying not to choke is hard when you feel his free hand curls around your ankle, fingernails digging into your skin to drag you back. You try to shake off his hardened grip but only end up giving him the leverage to pin you under his foot. The second his shoe collects with your chest, you stop moving. He presses down hard enough to keep you in place but not hard enough to put you in any pain. The fear in your eyes is enough to keep the pressure light.

You subconsciously tilt your head up when the tip of his knife is pointed at your jugular. The angle makes you feel vulnerable but keeps the blade from making direct contact to your skin.

“Why do you keep askin’ that?” He snarls down at you, the hand holding his blade trembling.

You blink once, twice, thrice, then let your expression fall into one of complete exasperation. Your brows pull together, eyes crinkling along with the downwards tilt of your growing frown. You know he’s as human as they come but without a human face to put with the body, you can’t let yourself fall any farther without confirmation. You need to know he’s human so you can let your undeniable feelings, however wrong they be, grow. A pathetic excuse to get him to take off the mask; that’s what it is.

“I just need to know.”

His breathing is soft behind the mask, if not a bit garbled. You patiently wait for anything—a move, maybe a slight shift of his foot, his denial, an unexpected stabbing to your throat. Anything to chase away the thoughts of how you can smell his cologne being this close and how it makes you melt.

You watch with a baited breath when his hand comes up and his fingers lace around the underside of his mask to pull it over the top of his head. If not for the fact you’re being pushed down into the dirt by the heel of his dirty converse, you would have slung your arms over his shoulders and kissed him breathless there.

Studying someone’s face has never been more satisfying. His eyes are dark in color, brown just dark enough to even be considered a warm black and they pierce your soul in the best way possible. Your gaze travels down to his lips that are pursed into a thin line which stretches out the scar that starts just above his top lip and overlaps down his bottom one. Muddy colored hair hangs over his forehead, a bit dampened from perspire. You take notice of his eyebrow piercing and they way his brows arch at your baffled staring.

The hood over his head casts a shadow over half of his features but it only makes your heart jump into your throat. He’s ridiculously handsome in a misunderstood young adult type of way that makes your romantic feelings sing. You want to thread your fingers into his hoodie and let your mouth run over the tattoo on his neck, tell him you have fallen head over heels and never let go.

Pursue him, Laurie said. You want to more than anything in this moment.

The second your mouth opens, you regret it. “What I wouldn’t give to kiss you right now.”

His expression hardens at soon as the words leave through your teeth. “What the hell did you just say?”

“I—“

His blade is carelessly thrown to the side and his hands tangle into the front of your shirt. You gasp when he rips you up from the ground in the roughest, most Frank way possible. His face peers down into yours, eyes angry and hot enough to make you melt deeper into his abrasive embrace. You have to brace your palms again this forearms to try and keep a bit of distance, though in your sick and twisted reality, you don’t want to keep distance. Not anymore.

“Say it again.”

You splutter. “No! I didn’t even say anything. It’s your imagination—“

He jerks you forward, face mere inches from yours. You’re sure he can feel how hard your heart is beating being this close.

“I want to hear you say it again.”

The opportunity is within your reach and you take hold of it. You tilt your head to press your forehead again his, mumbling a soft, “what I wouldn’t give to kiss you right now.” and he gives you exactly what you want before the last syllable can leave your tongue. His lips slant over yours, fitting together like the perfect puzzle piece and you sigh through your nose.

Every sensation sends you into hyperdrive; from the way his hands grapple at your shirt to pull you impossibly close, the smell of him, the taste of him, his warmth melting into your own. You can’t stop your hands from sliding over his broad shoulders and tangle into the head of his hoodie. You press deeper into his embrace but brace up on your tippy toes to kiss him better. The new position forces his hands to move from your shirt to the slope of your back. He purposely lets his fingertips slip under the seam to feel bare skin and you shiver.

How long has it been since you kissed someone? Well before you were taken for The Fog and that last kiss you had, although you barely remember it, was short and to the point. This one drags out, let’s you feel how his lips are a bit chapped, hear his puffs of breath when he pulls back only to reconnect again, taste him better and connect with human again. You tremble when he nibbles your bottom lip—your legs feel as if they might give out.

His teeth catch your bottom lip and pulls back enough to catch the sight of your blissed out expression. His mouth curls into a vicious smile, sharp around the edges when he releases your lip with a shuddered exhale. Your eyes flutter open to figure out why he had pulled away and you’re met with someone so very smug. It makes you want to slap him across the cheek and kiss him all over again.

Come of think of it, you haven’t ever seen him smile before.

“You’re losing this trial,” you whisper, leaning back in to brush your lips over his. His eyes flutter when pressing back into you, harder this time.

The pop of the last generator makes him hiss. You know you should pull away and try to get to the one of the exit gates but his body curls into the shape of yours so well you lose all train of thought. His fingers dig into your back to keep you in place. Not that you want to leave all that bad anymore.

Your legs feel like jelly at this point. It’s by the hand on your back and on your outer thigh that you don’t collapse.

“So are you going to kill me after this?”

“I should,” he confirms, “but I’m already in trouble with The Entity. Why not make it a winnin’ streak? I’ve got the most stubborn survivor in my arms, don’t I?”

You don’t have time to roll your eyes before his lips are on yours again. Through breathless lip locking you can’t help but think that if he does stick a knife in your gut, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. Your brows furrow together in concentration when his tongue barely glides over yours. Does he have a tongue piercing? Deepening the kiss confirms that he does in fact have one. It shouldn’t surprise you but somehow it does. You hadn’t noticed it when he was talking; granted you were focused on the way his eyes crinkled the entire time.

A smile forms on your mouth when you both pull away and press your foreheads together. His bangs tickle your nose. You should have provoked him long ago if you knew this would be the outcome.

“Look at you being soft,” you stroke the side of his face, thumb rubbing over the scar on his lips.

He huffs through his nose but leans into your hand. Your palm seems to light aflame when his lips purse into your fingertips, giving them a soft kiss to tone down the intense what was lip-locking atmosphere. You would rip your hand away to catch your breath but with the way his hand falls over your own, it isn’t going anywhere.

“You tell anyone this happened and I’ll gut you down the middle.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Frank,” you practically purr at the thought.

It was most certainly not a good time the last time it happened, but circumstances are different now and, who knows, you and your sadistic mind might enjoy it for a second before the agony of being sliced in half resurfaces to drown out the attraction. Getting hot and heavy thoughts over a killer should make you feel ashamed. 

You want to kiss him again, long and slow and continue to drag it out until it’s painful on both ends. But as soon as you go to lean in again, the loud chime of a timer rattles through your skull and the ground under the worn soles of your shoes bursts into a bright, glowing red that seeps from under the cracks of mud. You rip your touch away from Frank with panicked eyes and his soft, completely head over heels in love expression crumbles into a scowl.

“They opened the gate without me,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.

Your internal timer ticks away and the closer it gets to the end, the more self aware you become. The hairs on the back of your neck stick straight up and it doesn’t matter how many times you rub your forearm, the goosebumps always come back. After giving Frank one last look as an apology, you take off in a random direction hoping you can find the exit gate in time. If you’re lucky, the hatch will fall in your way.

You hadn’t been paying attention when the last generator popped to know the locations of the doors. The best bet you have is to circle the outer walls and hope you stumble into the one already opened, not the one closed. Otherwise you might be impaled on The Entity’s claws as a last second sacrifice and that fate is worse that going by any mori. It’s relatively easy to numb yourself out during a mori because you know after the second your heart stops beating, you’re back at the campfire not a second later. Painful, yes, but not anything you can’t endure.

Being The Entity’s personal sacrifice after a trial gone awry is the last thing you want. It sets all your nerves on fire and all you can do is scream until he twists your spine enough to the point it snaps, thus ending your miserable attempt at fleeing. You don’t reappear at the campfire immediately afterwards, either—just stuck in a void for an hour or two. You really have no words to truly describe how it feels.

All you know is it strikes fear in every survivor, whether they have been around since the beginning or only just arrived. You get out while you can and don’t ask questions if someone is too slow to escape in time. Or too dumb to realize when it’s time to leave. 

The uncomfortable twist in your gut lets your know you have about a minute before the inevitable. Panic starts to trickle into your blood a few heartbeats at a time; the thudding of your heart can be heard in your ears to the point it’s all you can hear. Your teammates will stick around until last minute in wait for you but even you wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave the exit gate at this point.

“Need help?”

You skid to a stop and throw your chin over your shoulder to see that Frank had been following you. You immediately notice that he’s pulled his mask back down to hide his facial features and his blade is back in his hand. The pinch of it’s shine against the red glow from the ground almost makes you flinch if not for the fact his free hand reaches up to tenderly grasp your chin.

His head swivels around to survey the area before he mumbles an irritable sounding, “Come on. This way.”

You grab his hand like a child clinging to their mother as he hauls you through the trees at an ungodly fast pace. Not quite running because he knows you wouldn’t be able to keep up but enough where you almost trip a few times. His grip is tight and burns in the best way. The unafraid part of you wonders how it would feel if he did other things with his hand.

A thought for another time, but definitely one to circle back to during boring nights at the campfire. Maybe some day he can show you up close and personal.

It doesn’t take long for him to locate the opened exit gate and practically throw you in it’s direction. Meg is the only one left waiting for you and she’s anxiously bouncing up and down, waving her hands and tapping her feet. When she sees you running for her, a relieved smile takes over her face.

“I was worried you wouldn’t make it!” She sighs, hand grasping the front of her shirt.

You grin from ear to ear. “I had help.”

She arches her brow at you before you step to the side to reveal Frank lingering just on the outer edges of the exit gate, pacing back and forth like a wild animal waiting to ambush its prey. You admire the way his shoulders hunch the more he fights off the urge to leap forward and wrap his slender fingers around Meg‘s throat.

“He brought you here?” She asks in exasperation.

“I did and you better not say anythin’ else on it,” he barks back before you can explain. His tone is sharp and makes you shiver—whether he sees how you react is a mystery.

Meg is stunned into silence at the fact that he spoke at all. You lay your hand on her shoulder and give a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Her eyes flicker to your face and back to Frank.

“Go. I’ll join you in a second.”

She swallows down whatever she wants to say, nods, then leaves in a sprint. Your eyes are trained on her back until you can feel a set on your back. With a purse of your lips, you spin on your heel to face Frank for the last time. His pacing has slowed to a stop and he’s standing straight up, shoulders pulled high in contrast to the way they had been sloped over not even a second ago.

“You sure you don’t want me as a sacrifice? There’s still time to get me up on a hook,” you offer with an outstretch of your hand, eyebrows pulled up in question, “not killing someone is going to be bad for you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Don’t go soft of me. Just get out of here before I take you up on that offer.”

You huff through your nose. “Then choke on one of The Entity’s spikes for all I care. You’ll be the one paying for the treachery, not me.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, softly tapping the tip of his blade against his forearm with an exhale. “I had my tongue down your throat. I think I’m willin’ to pay the price.”

“Keep seducing me and let it happen again, Zippy,” your mouth curls into a large, toothy smile.

You give him one last wave before leaving the trial just before the timer ends. The ground quakes as Frank watches you disappear into the fog as if you hadn’t been with him to begin with—except the lingering brush of your soft skin pressed to his own. His fingertips still burn at the thought.

He should be quivering in fear when large, black claws curl around the base of his body but all he manages is a sharp smile, hidden by the mask on his face. At this point, the punishment feels like a routine. By the end of it all, he will be back at Mount Ormond to have Julie patch up his fresh wounds and go about his day.

Truly, you have turned him soft. He could have killed you multiple times throughout the trial—you knew it too. You still ran, he still gave chase, and ultimately it should have ended with your shoulder pierced on a rusted hook and your teammates falling like flies after. Yet all you had to do was whisper in his ear and that was that.

Punishment well deserved this time, he thinks with a smirk.

Except this time, the punishment is so worth it. He plans to make sure your punishment will be worth it, too.


End file.
